


the parting glass

by naevia_nadia



Category: The Terror (TV 2018)
Genre: Angst, Captain Dad Crozier, Depression, Family Dynamics, Healing, Journal Entries, M/M, Minor Character Death, Modern Day, Naval Traditions, Period Typical Attitudes, Post canon, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Repression, Sailor Songs of the Sea, See Author's Notes for more Details, Slice of Life, Victorian Attitudes, canon character death, fathers and daughters, references to mythology
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-03
Updated: 2020-06-03
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:08:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24528139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/naevia_nadia/pseuds/naevia_nadia
Summary: In September 2018, two graduate students from the University of Chicago, studying the newly discovered wrecks of the HMS Erebus and HMS Terror, stumble upon a grave site containing two skeletons.  Identified as a Caucasian male, approximately mid to late-30s, and a second Caucasian male, approximately late-70s, their presence on King William Island reveals that not all perished in the doomed Franklin Expedition.  One man survived.  And buried next to him, in a loose grave of shale and rock, rests a journal wrapped in preserved skins.  This is the last will and testament of one Captain Francis Crozier, who survived.  And who lived.
Relationships: Captain Francis Crozier/Commander James Fitzjames
Comments: 13
Kudos: 54





	the parting glass

**Author's Note:**

> It has been a long time since I've accessed this AO3 account. But it's good to be back! I was extremely motivated to write this piece (the idea came to me even before I had finished the show), but upon finishing Season 1 of "The Terror", I was even more inspired. I caught myself tearing up often thinking of this piece. And I cried writing it.
> 
> I hope that's a good sign for the writing quality and not just me being morose about two Captains who loved each other too late.
> 
> In terms of My Hot Takes, please see the ending notes for some other opinions I had upon completing this work. Also, I will list the songs that inspired me while I wrote. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy this piece :)

_Fall 2018_

  
" _Ah, for just one time, I would take the Northwest Passage_ ," sings Alex Rockette of the University of Chicago, Department of History, as he navigates the loose stone of King William Island. " _To find the hand of Franklin reaching for the Beaufort Sea_."

The air nips at Maria Morales' nose, no matter how she wraps her coat or adjusts her fur-lined hood. The sun is bright in the blue sky; no cloud in sight. The light makes her squint, even through her sunglasses. She digs her pick into the loose stone. 

"You think it's fine to sing about this whole thing?" Maria asks. "They all died, didn't they? Starvation and the scurvy got to them."

"It's a good song," replies Alex. He hops onto a rather large rock, standing atop it. He casts his gaze across the landscape. As far as Maria can tell, there's just more stone. Stone and blue sky.

"It keeps them alive," Alex continues. "Singing about it. Besides, what else is there to do? We walk, see more stone, walk some more. Still wonder why Professor wanted us to walk here."

"The _Terror_ and _Erebus_ were only recently discovered," says Maria. She walks past Alex, atop his rock mountain, and shuffles along the stone. Her breath comes out in hot puffs, like smoke. "Abandoned tools and tins found along this route. Professor thinks there must be more. And I agree."

Alex hops down. "Will you at least sing with me? We've run out of things to talk about. And I know you know the song; I heard you humming it before."

Maria sighs. "If I do, will you slow down? I can't keep up with your running about. I'm the one carrying all the gear anyway." Radio, provisions, maps...Maria wonders what the crew of the doomed expedition would have done with all she has now. 

Alex grins and nods. He beckons her with a hand, then presses on.

Maria inhales cold air. With a voice like a songbird, catching on the frigid air, she continues Alex's verse. " _Tracing one warm line through a land so wild and savage. And make a Northwest Passage to the sea_."

Alex laughs and joins the next verse in harmony. And the two graduate students press on, singing to the blue sky and the stone and the ghosts that walk among them. 

Before long, the sun begins to set, and the two students make camp. Maria sets up their tents while Alex tends to their food. They both eat quickly, tired from the day. 

"I want to explore some more," Alex says, after taking a drink from his canteen. 

"Aren't you exhausted?" asks Maria, already dozing where she sits around the fire they built. 

"I won't go far," Alex says. He points at a pile of stone, just a bit in the distance. "I want to climb there, to know how far I can see. Who knows; maybe another ship will be wrecked!"

Maria sighs. "At least take a flashlight. And be back soon."

Alex nods, darting over to his pack. He takes a pick and flashlight and ambles away. Maria tracks his flashlight with tired eyes, watching as Alex ascends the stone hill. She already knows what he'll see when he reaches the top: more of King William Island. As far as the eye can see; a desolate place, without the caribou that flock here in the summer. Without ice and snow, so the seals are still further north.

Subconsciously, Maria begins the song they sang before. " _Ah, for just one time, I would take the Northwest Passage. To find the hand of Franklin reaching for the Beaufort Sea_."

Suddenly, the flashlight tumbles from Alex's grasp. It clatters its way down the stone hill. "Maria!" Alex shouts a moment later. "Get over here!"

Maria jumps up, exhaustion forgotten. She snatches her pack, digs inside for her flashlight, and hurries over as quick as she can. She stumbles over the stone as she jogs over to where Alex stands. "Are you hurt?"

"No!" Alex shouts back. "But there's something here!" There's an excitement to his voice, but also a sort of fear, too.

Maria climbs up the rock hill. Her gloves scrape against the rock. She knows she should feel cold, away from the fire, but there's a burning heat inside her now.

When she scrambles up, Alex looks at her. His mouth his agape, and his eyes shine with...something. "Show me," Maria says.

Alex only points at a strange piling of rock. But next to it...next to it? 

Bones. Frozen flesh. Remnants of leather and fur. And sticking out from a pile of rocks...something bound in skin. Bound with sinew. 

Maria reaches out instinctively, to touch the remains, but she draws back. "Go back to the pack," she says to Alex. "Radio the Professor. Tell her our coordinates. Tell her...we found someone. And they left us something."

  
\--

_Fall 2018_

  
Professor Okalik arrives by helicopter the next day.

The discovery would forever change the story of the _HMS Erebus_ and _HMS Terror_. It would reveal the truth: that not all perished in the doomed expedition.

Two skeletons were identified at the site. One Caucasian male, dated mid-30s to late-30s, buried under shale and rock. Without boots. Wrapped in a sheet. Another Caucasian male, dated late-70s. Missing a hand. Wearing caribou fur and skins. Lying atop the stone as if he simply lay down and passed on.

Beside that skeleton, secured under rocks, was a package wrapped in skins. Once unwrapped, the skins revealed a journal bound in a 19th century British style. Old and brittle, yet preserved from water damage or rot. As if the man who died beside it wanted the journal to live on after him. 

Professor Okalik knows this man wants to be heard.

In a clean room at the University of Chicago, Okalik handles the journal with gloved hands. She turns the cover over, gently, with both hands. 

On the cover page, a number: 24, in a fading ink. And below that, in a shaky script that reveals either age or nerves, a single sentence:

" _I lived_."

And a signature: _Captain F. R. M. C._

Okalik's eyes widen. She carefully turns the cover page and begins to read the last testament of Captain Francis Rawdon Moira Crozier, thought to have perished in 1848, speaking to her now after all of these years.

  
\--

  
_Fall 1849_

  
_Silna has returned to camp bearing a gift. A journal and ink, though I do not yet know where she got it. All of my questions are met with a shake of the head or a smile. Though it is always good to see Silna again; I confess that, though this is the way here among the Netsilik, that I worry to see her walk the ice alone. But she is strong. I know that. Yet I worry._

_It has been so long since I have put words to paper. But I must limit my thoughts, though I have many. Silna has only brought me so much ink._

_Fall 1849_

_We are to make camp here for winter. There are plenty of stores: food, furs, tools. I am to learn how to hunt seal this season. I confess that I am excited; I feel as though a youth again, learning the ship's ropes and navigating her sails. Though a part of me, the one that turns a mood as I once turned to drink, thinks bitterly of this task. I am learning, yes, but why now? Why not before, when we were on our march?_

_But I cannot think of the past in such a manner. We had what was afforded to us, those poisoned tins and our poisoned minds._

_My one hand does not prevent me from thrusting with a harpoon._

_I catch myself reaching with my left hand. Sometimes I feel a phantom motion, as if a ghost hand is mated with my flesh arm._

_Fall 1849_

_I have speared a seal. The Netsilik have congratulated me extensively; I smile when they take my arms. I smile when the children run in circles around my bounty._

_Somehow, this feels more exciting than even when I made Captain. Though perhaps not as much as when I first boarded Terror. She glimmered then, in port at Kent. May 1845. Feels like a lifetime ago._

_We are to butcher the seal tonight. I am to learn from Kanut, who I am growing close with. She is good-natured and quiet; when we sit together, she only asks me of the hunt and of the winter's stores and of the camp children. She never asks me of the expedition. When I wish to speak of...things personal, she does not press. I am grateful for that, as am I for her skill in butchery and that she would teach an old Irish man like myself._

_Fall 1849_

_My understanding of the Inuktitut language is growing better. Often, I catch myself forgetting English words. When I sit to write in my tent, I have to think long for the words to return. It reminds me of being a boy in Ireland. I forgot that language fast. Few words come to mind now._

_Winter 1849_

_I live in a snow hut now. Furs are piled on the floor. A fire burns in a pit, with a hole cut from the ceiling for air. It is quite warm here._

_My hunting and butchery is greatly improved. I am now learning sewing and tannery from two children. I catch myself fond of their girlish chatter. They even draw me into their gossip, though I have little to contribute. But I entertain them with stories of ladies from England. They ask often of the curtsey and the bow; I demonstrated both to them, and now they run among the camp, bowing and curtseying to everyone. The adults look to me for answer, as they know this strange old man here was surely the one to put such ideas in the childrens' heads. But there is no harm here. For once, the bowing and curtesying and party trivialities bring me joy rather than scorn. I never was the politician._

_Winter 1849_

_I must ration my ink now. It is much too low. And Silna has not yet returned to camp._

_I do hope she is well and keeping warm._

_Spring 1849_

_I have never been so joyous to see the sun once more. And to feel warm without fire. Truly I have been blessed by God, to feel such delight._

_Summer 1849_

_We move to pursue the caribou._

_Fall 1850_

_A hunting party has spotted a sight that I cannot determine is of fortune or misfortune. A man who I know, by description, must be Sir James Ross, accompanied by a guide. Likely a translator; Ross does not speak Inuktitut._

_Ukiuk tells me that the men are looking for the Franklin Expedition. They have been sent on an expedition, funded by Lady Jane and Ms. Cracroft and other patrons, to find us lost souls._

_Strange to think that Sophia has not occupied my mind for the year I have lived among the Netsilik. This realization brings forth no emotion from me, not even as I write now._

_Ukiuk has asked me what I want to do. I am still deciding, as I sit here in my tent. Yet I believe I know myself well enough. The ships are lost. The men are dead. There is no Northwest Passage. We are gone._

_This is what I well tell Ukiuk. I will provide him with the buttons of my coat, now threadbare, as proof of my death. Ross will surely be full of sorrow, as will the Lady Jane and perhaps Ms. Cracroft, but this must be done. We cannot have more men pursue this folly. As the sole survivor, this is my duty._

_Besides, nothing remains for me back in England. All that is me belongs to this place. I cannot go back. I will not go back._

_I only hope that Ross leaves soon, so that he too is not consumed by this place._

_Fall 1850_

_I return from seal hunting to see Ukiuk looking at me with a smile on his face. I tilt my head in question; he only holds out a wrapped package._   
_When I take it, I can hear a sloshing of liquid. When I unwrap the skin, out comes a vial of ink! I nearly jump on Ukiuk to embrace him; oh, I was running so low!_

_"What did you trade to get this?" I ask._

_Ukiuk shrugs. "Your carvings are well enough for them."_

_I laugh. My carvings are notoriously terrible; the camp was likely delighted to be rid of them._

_Ukiuk then shifts. "Something else, too." He holds out another package, wrapped in skin and bound with sinew. Rectangular in shape. Lightweight._

_"Kanut came to me, before the men left," Ukiuk says. "She thought it'd be good for you to have this."_

_"What?"_

_"A soul, preserved."_

_My grasp on Inuktitut was worse than I thought, I had thought then. But when I unwrapped the package, I understood Ukiuk well. I near jolted back, as if given a fright, for I had. A spirit was indeed preserved here, in this photograph._

_There was James. Looking at me from beyond the grave. Back when he was whole._

_I knew then that I loved Kanut. This seal on my back would be hers alone._

_Fall 1850_

_When I started this journal, I wondered why I was writing anyway. Why Silna chose to bring this plain book back to me. But I understand now, why I write. Why I detail my life on these pages._

_Perhaps it is like I'm speaking to you, James. These pages may well reach beyond the grave to grasp at wherever your soul now resides. Your friendship during the expedition carried my steps forward, and your friendship now will keep me company here._

_Kanut received my love and affection with a laugh. She accepted the seal with even more. Though she was quick to bring it back to the communal pile, her eyes were bright when she looked at me, still._

_Instead, I make sure to aid her in her chores and bring her good cheer. It is the least I can do for the woman who, in the trading of her own food, brought James Fitzjames back from the grave._

_Winter 1850_

_I am getting used to my one hand. At times I feel a ghost, but I remember the truth of it all once I look down at my handless arm._

_Winter 1850_

_I jolted awake last night, drenched in sweat, pursued by some menace in my dreams that had morphed from Hickey to Tuunbaq to other horrors._

_My hand still shakes as I write._

_Winter 1850_

_Kanut tells me my carvings "are better now". I am grateful. So far this winter, I have carved a bear, though I confess it looks a bit like Tuunbaq, God rest that bastard's soul. I have also carved a caribou, though with antlers shed. Carving with one hand is quite the challenge, but an old man like me has to keep his mind sharp._

_You would be much better at this, James, and not just because you'd have two hands. You were quite dexterous with the ship knots. Though I think you would grow frustrated, impatient as you are, at the painstaking task of chipping away at antler and bone._

_Kanut would smile politely at your carvings, pat you on the head as if you were a child, and walk away to leave you sputtering in the snow. Oh, how I would laugh, James, at your face. So expressive. So alive._

_Spring 1851_

_Sunlight has returned, James. I have taken your portrait out of our snow hut, so that you may feel the warmth. I tilt my face up to the sky. My eyes are closed._

_Summer 1851_

_Nightmares struck again last night. I do not wish to put them to paper; recalling them would only cause me more fright._

_Summer 1851_

_I accompany the hunting party, for we look for caribou now. We have been tracking a herd for a week now. Though I may not be able to hunt caribou, I am sufficiently experienced at hauling loads for long distances. I must thank past experience for this skill._

_Summer 1851_

_We have come across the herd of caribou. And what a sight, James._

_We approached the herd at daybreak. As the sun rose, I was struck by the light glittering amongst the caribou fur. A dark brown, sprinkled with gold._

_Oh, and I knew where I had seen such a sight. I grasped at my heart and near collapsed, were it not for Toklo holding me up. I was thrown back into memory. Of sitting at that dining room table aboard the ship, in our military dress. Back when we were all whole and bright. And there you were, telling that damned story of being shot yet again, and I sat there and seethed and reached for my drink. And yet, by the gas lamps of the dining cabin, your dark curled hair speckled gold._

_And though I did hate you, James, I could not look away. I was entranced by the sight, as I am now as the caribou amble past._

_I fell into Toklo then, hyperventilating into my sobs. The caribou herd began to scatter. I felt shame so deep, so ingrained in my being, that I would have not protested had Toklo and the rest of the hunting party left me behind. The hunters were successful that night. I picked up my sled and aided in dragging that caribou carcass back to our hunting camp. In the dying sunlight, before we went off for the night, I saw that brown hair glitter again. Yet the carcass did not move, those dark brown eyes did not brighten and I took deep breaths until I could find the courage to enter my tent and find fitful sleep._

_Summer 1851_

_I wish to lie here until I turn to stone._

_Summer 1851_

_Kanut brings me my meals. I can see her tears, and though I wish I had the strength to bring my hand up and wipe them away, it's as though I am pinned under these furs by iron weights. I will myself to rise, yet my body does not obey._

_I am without fever nor any other physical ailment. In their seeking of a cure, Ukiuk has sent a party out to retrieve Silna, for she is a shaman and knows of these "non-ailment illnesses" and has been trained in cures and treatments._

_The thought of Silna's return brings me some joy. A joy I have not felt for some time._

_Fall 1851_

_Silna is here. Yet I do not have the strength to leave my tent and receive her._

_What a pitiful sight I am, James, wasting away here under my furs. To think I was once the Captain of among the greatest ships in our Navy. To think such men, including yourself, looked to me for leadership and guidance as we navigated this unforgiving, cruel landscape. I failed them, James. I failed you._

_Fall 1851_

_Kanut cries more often now. I think I realize now, James, that she sees me as her father, who I know to have perished on the ice some years before when she was just a girl. I wish to be better, so that I may bring contentment to her eyes once more. So, when Silna enters my tent to see me, as she has done every night since she arrived, I push myself up with my hand to receive her. This takes nearly all of my strength. I have never done something so challenging. Not even hauling gear across the Island could compare._

_But I receive Silna. I look her in the eyes._

_She nods her head. Then, she leaves, as quick as she arrived._

_I am left confused, yet I still sit._

_I wait for her return._

_Fall 1851_

_I write to you from memory, for I can recall the words I spoke and the actions Silna took as easily as if they were performed in a play right in front of me._

_It was night when Silna came to my tent. Again, I pushed myself up to receive her. I sat cross-legged in front of her, feeling weak, though I had done no laborious acts to deserve such exhaustion._

_Silna sat down in front of me. The fire caught her in shadow._

_"It's good to see you again," I said. My voice ached from lack of use, as it still aches now, for I talked a great deal to Silna and had not talked for a long time before._

_Silna smiled at me._

_"How have you been? The ice treating you fair?"_

_Silna tilted her head. I took it to mean that she is getting by just fine._

_"That's good to hear."_

_Quiet._

_"Though it always good to see you again, Silna, I must ask...why have you returned?"_

_Silna gave me a look that I easily translated: you. And is it not obvious that you are a shell of the man I left behind?_

_She once asked me if I wanted to die._

_Quiet._

_I had left out that image of you, James. Silna looked to it and took it in hand. I moved as if to stop her, more of a flinch than anything, and her eyes darted to mine. We paused there, watching each other. She lifted that photograph with extreme gentleness and kept me in eyes as though I was a panther posed to pounce._

_Silna looked deep into the photo. She placed it down next to her oh so gently. The flames of the fire cast light upon you, to shadow the photograph such that I could imagine your hair glittering gold once more. My chest tightened then._

_Then, Silna looked at this journal, which I keep under the furs I sleep atop and within. She held out her hand. With reverence, I passed this book to her._

_Silna lay the journal down beside that picture of you, James._

_The fire burned next to us._

_Silna placed one hand atop the photograph. She pinched her hand, as if plucking a small object off the floor, and placed that invisible object into her palm. Her fingers cradled this invisible object, pulled from your photograph. Then, Silna shifted over, such to hover over my journal. She lowered that invisible object, looking into my eyes as she did so, before she turned her hand over and pressed her palm firm against the leather cover._

_Silna sat back. Then, from within her furs, Silna took out a charm. It was a caribou, much better carved than mine, with antlers to boot. My mouth quirked against my will. "It actually resembles the great beast. Mine resembles more a cow than anything."_

_Silna tilted her head and raised her eyebrow._

_I was properly chastised._

_Silna took that caribou charm and laid it atop the photograph. The charm clattered against the frame. Silna pressed her palm atop, exhaling as she did so. She leaned back and gestured to me, then pointed at the charm._

_I exhaled shakily and took the caribou in hand. It is a fine charm, with exquisite detailing, almost as if I can see the fur itself._

_Silna leaned forward to close the fingers of my hand around this caribou. She grabbed my wrist and lifted my arm, such that my fist pressed against my heart. Silna lay her own hand atop mine and pressed harder. I could then feel the pounding of my own heart._

_I cannot write what transpired next, James, for it felt as though the Lord Himself had willed into being in my tent (and you know I was never the religious man). Yet there was a sense of euphoria as I cannot describe. Perhaps this is what Moses felt upon the burning of the bush. I would not know. I am not Sir John and prone not to religious fervor._

_I shuddered like a ship sail in high winds. I felt tears against my cheeks. The first tears since when I saw that herd of caribou and thought of you so desperately, James._

_From then, Silna knew I would be standing come morning. For after she left, I discovered she had left another bottle of ink. That is why this entry is so lengthy; for I now have much to write with and much to say._

_When I rise in the morning, I will greet Kanut as the father she wants me to be and the father I know I can be._

_Winter 1851_

_The sun has been set for many days. And though there are days where rising is as laborous as coaxing the winter sun from horizon, I find myself at peace more often than not. I keep the caribou charm close at hand. I find myself grasping at it when I feel my stomach start to sink as a ship taking on water. The hard points of the carved antlers ground me like an anchor._

_Winter 1851_

_Given that I am a stranger here, the children often come to me seeking stories of England and my "adventures" (though I loathe to call them as such) across the sea. Here I call upon your storytelling abilities, James, for mine are so poor in comparison._

_Speaking of starvation and scurvy would only scare the children, so I think back to the myths of our Island back across the Atlantic. Two creatures from mythology, for I care not to speak of Christiandom, came to mind that I believed the camp children would understand and enjoy._

_I spoke first of the Merrow, the half-woman and half-fish sirens that torment us sailors with their captivating songs. I did not speak of their tendency to devour us, for that would only bring night terrors, but I need not continue in my tales before the first questions were asked._

_Does the Merrow not get cold? She does not wear furs, like the seal, so she must freeze in the water? How can she breathe, with the upper half of a woman?_

_I grew frustrated at first, but realized that their logic here was quite sound. I then thought back to my days as a boy in the Navy. I remembered a story a Scottish sailor once told: of the selkie, a woman who could walk the land, but upon retrieval of her seal-skin, then return to sea._

_The children understood this one better. And even better (and James, you will derive such joy from this question), they asked if I was myself a selkie! They asked of my pelt and if I swam the Atlantic aboard my Terror to reach them here!_

_I dare say I might have been offended, but I am growing rotund this Winter and perhaps I do mimic a seal in belly and in love of the sea._

_No matter; I shall be a selkie to them and perhaps one day I will return to the ocean whence I came._

_Winter 1851_

_The children now ask me for songs._

_And you know, James, that I only know the sailor and tavern songs. I never was the gentleman, never could become one such as yourself at all those officer events._

_But I sing to them old Irish songs (fragments, for my youth memory is poor) and they sing to me in Inuktitut. I never had the greatest voice, and never took part in sailor songs abord Terror if I could help it, but I am able to sing some children to sleep when even their mothers have trouble. They are grateful for my voice._

_I cannot remember if you ever sang, James, but I know you would have been a siren. Do not ask how I know; perhaps I take comfort in you accompanying my voice in harmony, as we sing these children to bed._

_Winter 1851_

_It feels wrong to not write of my crew._

_I know what I have been doing. I have been ignoring my feelings towards the matter because I was ashamed and because I still am now. But I do feel guilty. I feel so guilty that I feel as though the ground itself will open and drop me within such darkness._

_I think back to what I could have done differently. Had I realized what Hickey, damn bastard, was up to from the start. Had I not been such a drunk. Had I forced Sir John's hand, court martial be damned. Had I treated you more charitably, James, though you must forgive an old man for placing some of that blame on your proud shoulders._

_Had our food not been poisoning us. Had the winter not been so severe. Had I refused such assignment._

_No. I would never have refused. Not to condemn you all to death. Not to condemn you, James._

_I go outside and stand in the cold, bundled in my furs, for as long as I am able. I trace familiar stars with ease. I track our old positions well. This way to reach where Hickey met his death. This way to reach where I found Jopson, abandoned and yet determined not to perish alone. This way to where I buried you, James._   
_Not well enough. Hickey still got your boots._

_Damn that man to Hell._

_Winter 1851_

_I continue to ruminate on the last acts of the Terror and Erebus._

_But I cannot ignore the one fact nor the one question I have as a result. I survived. Why?_

_You did implore me to survive, James. Perhaps that is why._

_Perhaps God left me living so I could understand this greatest loss, my fault. Perhaps God is cruel. I did not and do not believe in His graces as Sir John did._

_But that does not seem right either._

_Perhaps I live because of chance. Perhaps I look to my own circumstances as proof of supernatural interference because my chances were so low to start. But not impossible. Anything is possible, and my survival came about by a cascading set of events put into motion even before I knew I was in danger._

_Fate._

_God? Not in my eyes._

_I do not know why I live, but I know you told me to, James. Perhaps that is stronger than fate. Stronger than God._

_I hold the caribou charm in hand. Something swells in my belly._

_I live._

_Fall 1853_

_Ink has been hard to come by. Thankfully, a trapping party stumbled into camp one day. They were kind enough to pay for our hospitality with ink, though they must have been confused at the request._

_Kanut has been with sorrow lately. She had been spending much time with a man by the name of Taktuq, who went off to hunt one day and never returned. I am there for her, but the comforting words die in my throat. I only rub her arm and let her cry._

_Fall 1853_

_I am worried about Kanut. She cannot hold food in her stomach for long, and she complains to me of pain. I implore her to seek the camp's doctor, but Kanut will not. She can be stubborn at times, like me._

_Winter 1853_

_Kanut is with child! I feel as though a father to her, and know I will be a grandfather to her children. She is most excited, James. This will be her first, after all. She feels as though she is to have a daughter. I'm sure she will be as beautiful and as intelligent and as dependable as Kanut._

_I placed my palm against her belly to feel the child's quickening. A strange sensation, James, one I think you would enjoy. I tell her that I know she will be a great mother. Kanut smiles through happy tears._

  
  
_Spring 1854_

_Kanut went into labor today. She did not survive._

_I have named the baby Sesi. She is a girl._

_Spring 1854_

_I wish to sink back into my furs, but I know Sesi needs me. Though I cannot feed her like Taqqiq, who now nurses two children, I can provide love and affection. I feel as though I can channel Kanut's soul and carry her love down from the heavens to lay upon her beautiful child._

_I'm not very good at holding Sesi. Taqqiq has to correct me often. Like the rest of camp, she is also still sorrowed by Kanut's passing._

_I rub my thumb over Sesi's soft skin. I am able to cradle her in my hand-less arm easily, though Taqqiq has also fashioned me a sling to wear across my chest._

_I am carving her a charm now. A seal._

_Fall 1854_

_Sesi grows quickly. I confess I do not know much about infant development, but the mothers of the camp are pleased with her progress. I enjoy playing games with her; I hide my face behind caribou furs and drop them to hear her screech in delight._

_She has also begun to eat some solid food, though she is still at the breast. I thank Taqqiq for her generosity with seal meat, of which I have become quite the proficient hunter, and treated skin._

_Whenever I pass her back to Taqqiq, I am sure to tuck her seal charm into her furs. I tuck the caribou charm there too, so that you may also be present, James._

_Fall 1854_

_If only I could see you as a father here, James. You would be much better than me._

_Sesi cried all night. She is teething. I had her chew animal skin, but nothing seemed to soothe her. I passed her back to Taqqiq with a wince. The poor woman looked exhausted._

_I crave whiskey more than ever._

_If you could soothe admirals and various other "political" personalities with that charm of yours, James, you could soothe a fussy baby as quick as the shake of a lamb's tail._

_Fall 1854_

_I am running low on ink. Sesi, in her crawling about, knocked most of it over._

_Spring 1857_

_Another trapping party and another pot of ink. I am grateful; I had begun to talk to this portrait of you, James, and I have reread this journal many times over. Perhaps the camp has thought this old man has finally lost his senses. Or perhaps they thought I was talking to Sesi._

_Sesi! Oh, what a beautiful young lady she is._

_I cannot believe she is three years old already._

_Somehow, James, she has inherited your cheek._

_Summer 1857_

_The caribou return. I see their fur glitter gold in the sun, and I smile. I knew they reminded me of you, James. Mostly by their long legs and shaggy brown coats. I disliked being shorter than you most days, but I do agree that there were advantages to you towering over me like a tree._

_I miss Sesi. Every time I leave camp, I miss her such that it aches. She is sad to see me go, and she always holds onto my legs as I make attempt to leave with the hunting party. But I tell her this: "I will always come back for you. I love you."_

_I lay a mittened hand atop her head. She giggles as I engulf her._

_Fall 1857_

_I tell Sesi the story of the merrow and the story of the selkie. Again, she asks if I am a selkie._

_Am I so round like a seal, James?_

_Apparently so._

_Winter 1857_

_I sing to Sesi a song._

_"Of all the money that ever I had_

_I spent it in good company_

_And all the harm I've ever done_

_Alas, it was to none but me."_

_You know the song, James. It frequents every port bar. A sailor's song. A drink for the road, to fortify you for such journey._

_I sang this song to you. I passed that last glass to you. Is it morbid of me to sing it now, to our daughter?_

_Sesi asks me why I sometimes cry when I look at your portrait. Why I sometimes cry when I sing her this song. I tell her to wait until she gains more years before she asks me again._

_Winter 1857_

_"Of all the comrades that ever I had_

_They're sorry for my going away_

_And all the sweethearts that ever I had_

_They'd wish me one more day to stay"_

_Oh James._

_Winter 1860_

_Sesi is sick._

_Oh God, help this child._

_Winter 1860_

_I have turned to prayer. What Sir John must have wished for so long has finally come true. Not by his own hand, but he must feel accomplished wherever he ended up._

_Ukiuk is worried. He implores me to be strong. I know they're all thinking of when I lay unfeeling and unseeing in my furs those years ago._

_I must be strong. Sesi is just with fever. We were all with fever, once, as children._

_James, I wish for your steady hand and for your friendship now, more than ever I did before._

_Winter 1860_

_Sesi is delirious now. She calls out for her Father, and I tell her that I am here, but she still thrashes in whatever nightmares hold her in grip._

_I press a kiss to her small, soft wrist._

_Her brown eyes look to me with a child's fear._

_James, wherever your soul rests, I implore that you sit beside me and will our daughter to be well._

_Winter 1860_

_The fever broke last night._

_Sesi's eyes are clear now. She smiles; some of her childhood teeth have fallen out and her adult teeth are yet to replace._

_I sink into my relief as if I sit upon the softest of chairs. I cry. Sesi asks why Father is crying. I tell her that I'm happy to see her healthy and whole._

_Summer 1861_

_Sesi wishes to hunt caribou. I tell her yet again that she is too young to accompany us. She rolls her eyes and stomps off._

_There you are, James._

_Winter 1861_

_I must apologize for my lack of entry in this journal over the years. Any lack of ink is not to blame, for I am stocked plenty. But my attention is on Sesi and the rest of the camp._

_Would you forgive me, James? For not writing here? I speak to you often, especially as Sesi lays sleeping and I stroke her beautiful black hair. I picture you lying next to me or perhaps on the other side of her, so that she's protected on all sides. We would speak in whispers of this or that. The long winter. What we will do once spring comes._

_I turn my head and see those two charms: seal and caribou. Your portrait is close by._

_I jolt. In my care for Sesi, I have yet to wonder of Silna. I feel guilty, but cast thoughts aside. She is safe where she walks. I will see her again. I know it._

_Winter 1862_

_Sesi has inherited my own lack of skill in carving. She is horribly upset, especially after one of the other children, a boy named Kallik, laughed at her attempts. Let me tell you, James, that I have not yet lost the effect of Captain. I can still command with just my face. That boy will not be talking to Sesi in such a way ever again._

_Fall 1864_

_Sesi has speared her first seal. Though she is still too small to heave it back herself. I carried it for her and she ran circles around me, shouting that she was the greatest hunter of all the land! I congratulated her extensively._

_She is now detailing the story of her conquest over this seal. It grows longer with each telling and even more dramatic, such that she was actually facing War itself._

_Hello, James._

_Summer 1865_

_I have taken Sesi to hunt caribou. She is amazed by the size of the herd, just as I was during my first hunt. Yet the size of the creatures intimidates her some. She takes hold of my hand, as if she were a child once more, and not approaching eleven years._

_Part of me is glad for this. Sesi grows too quickly. And I grow older by the day._

_Spring 1866_

_Sesi is now twelve. Old enough to understand where I, Francis Crozier, came from. And old enough to understand this portrait of you, James Fitzjames, and why you do not sit across from me, playing second father._

_I leave out some parts...the more grotesque. I leave out descriptions of Tuunbaq, for she only knows of that beast as equalizer, and not a terror, as he was to us. I leave out Hickey's terrible deeds and details of our desperation. Am I wrong to do so? It is lying, yes, but I am a weak old man, and I do not want my daughter's head filled with these horrid truths about my arriving here._

_So I tell her of you, James. You would be pleased; I spoke of you as your prideful self would have wanted. Though I did not tell her that damned Chinese sniper story, for it has been told one too many times, and I will not indulge you in this._

_But I speak of you. How tall you were. How commanding a presence. Hair so soft. I speak of your leadership, and how Sesi has inherited that from you. How she inherited your beauty and your grace among the snow and ice._

_I speak of how I see you in the sun-speckled coats of the caribou. How I see you in the stars at night, remembering when we watched them together._

_I do not tell her of your scurvy. I do not tell her of your passing nor my help there. I do not tell her of our last confessions to each other._

_I am a weak man. I still want you just for my own, James._

_But Sesi understands. As I begin to cry, she hugs me and tells me she loves me and that she loves you, too. I hold her closer, tightly, to my chest. My heart pounds._

_Spring 1866_

_Sesi returned to our tent today with a carving of her own. A caribou, with antlers. And a seal._

_Though rough in places, and not as detailed as Silna's own caribou, I treasure these pieces more than anything. I carry Sesi's caribou carving, and Sesi carries Silna's carving. We both carry you, James._

_Spring 1869_

_Sesi is close to fifteen. And she is a woman, as of today. The women of the camp celebrate with much joy._

_I had to sit down from shock. And to think, just yesterday, I carried her in a sling over my chest. Not even ten pounds. And look at her now, James. A woman._

_I am so proud._

_Summer 1869_

_I caught Sesi checking her appearance in a flowing creek today. I laughed so hard that I began to wheeze. Sesi scowled most foul at me, but I could not stop. I had to sit down from delight._

_That is your daughter, James, that vanity is YOURS!_

_Fall 1869_

_Sesi came to me most shy today. She asked how I spoke to you, James, before we began our friendship. I asked her why she is asking me such things._

_Then, of the damndest things, James, Sesi blushes. And she speaks of Kallik! You recall Kallik, for he was that boy who bullied her so as a child! Made fun of her carvings with much cruelty such that I had to dry our daughter's tears._

_But I stay calm. I tell her to be gracious and gentle and to speak in soft words. That is how you win affection._

_I am lying, James, for I somehow won your affection by being a drunken fool and punching you in the face. But I don't think that strategy will work for Sesi. Something tells me our case was different and specific to our own characters._

_Fall 1869_

_Sesi is angry with me. She has commanded me not to glare at Kallik so, for I am scaring him away with the force of my ire. Though she may not be my superior officer, I know that I must obey her command. How quickly this snarling dog heels, James._

_If you were here, I would hope you'd take my side._

_Yet something tells me you would delight in taking Sesi's side in this matter of courtship. That you two would be conspirators in this plot to win Kallik's heart. I would catch you two giggling over all of this._

_Your hair would be graying now, James. Your face would be wrinkled. You'd be grateful that you were at the end of vanity, as you once said._

_My hair is near gone. My eyesight is getting worse. I limp now._

_But I am as strong in mind as I ever was._

_Fall 1869_

_Sesi's stomach is cramping. She groans most pitifully._

_In my comfort, I find myself taken back to earlier times. When she was but a child._

_I sing to her these words:_

_"Of all the money that ever I had_

_I spent it in good company"_

_And you know the rest._

_I do not think of how I sang you off with the same words. I do not think of that Parting Glass I gave you._

_I lie._

_Spring 1870_

_I told Sesi the whole story. About the expedition. About you, James, and how you suffered so before death. How I sang that song to you and offered you your last drink before you drifted off to sleep._

_Sesi has not come back to the tent. I ask Ukiuk if he has seen her, for I am concerned for her well-being. But Ukiuk tells me to have patience. Sesi is safe in camp._

_But she does not want to see me._

_I hold your portrait close tonight, James. I hold our charms, our seal and caribou, even tighter._

_Spring 1870_

_Sesi is sixteen. God, she truly is a woman now._

_She is staying with Kallik all this time. It seems I am not to shake this lad. I must get used to it; I think I may be a grandfather soon._

_Should I forbid Sesi from engaging with this boy?_

_Even if I did, I know she would not listen. She is as willful as her second father._

_I admire her for that._

_Winter 1870_

_I have been with fever for some time now. Sesi cries as she looks down at me. My fever has broken only recently._

_What did I say, I wonder? While grasped by such fits and terrors?_

_I do not know. And Sesi will not say._

_I only ask if I have scared her. She shakes her head no._

_I reach up to touch her face. Just as soft as when she was but a baby._

_Fall 1871_

_Sesi is with child. Seventeen and with child._

_I am grasped with terror, James. Kanut perished giving life to Sesi. I cannot have that happen again._

_My heart beats fitfully. I collapse._

_When I come to, I am told that my heart has weakened with time and experience. I must take it easy._

_Take it easy? Tell that to an old Irish sailor._

_Spring 1872_

_Sesi has given birth to a son. She and Kallik are wed now. I growl at him that if so much as treats her poorly once, that this old Irish sailor will come for him. He is properly frightened._

_Sesi is exhausted from delivery, but her midwives tell me she will recover well. She is feasting on seal meat, as I did when Silna delivered me here._

_I have not heard from Silna in years. Part of me knows she must have passed. But the other part of me, the louder part, knows she still walks the ice._

_Spring 1872_

_His name is Tuktu James._

_Summer 1872_

_I try to keep up as grandfather, James, but my constitution is failing. My heart is weak. I have to heave myself up to stand. I can no longer follow the caribou. The thought made me near collapse in grief._

_I will not see the herds again. I know it._

_Sesi comforts me by letting me hold Tuktu James. He is wrapped in caribou furs. I have already carved him a caribou charm and a seal charm. Sesi says he will keep them for life._

_I catch her crying sometimes. I wish I could comfort her, but it is my presence and my fading away that causes her such pain._

_Winter 1872_

_My time is ending, James._

_I am only grateful that my son-in-law, Kallik, is a good man. He has dragged me out to these coordinates so that I may achieve my own peace and tranquility._

_Leaving Sesi was among the most difficult and heart-tearing experiences of my life. She had Tuktu James in her arms. She sobbed and screamed and I heard her as Kallik pulled me from camp upon his sled. I heard her for a long time._

_But this needed to be done. I wished to die where I lay you to rest, James, all those years ago._

_Incredible to think I made it to age seventy-six. A miracle._

_Arriving back to you, James, took some time, but Kallik is strong and did not seek to rest often. I think he knew that I was close to passing on. I am holding on now, just to write this last message. My hands shake. My penmanship is worse now. It hurts to breathe. But I must put down what I have not yet written. For I was a coward. But I will not die a coward. I will not._

_I loved you, James Fitzjames. I love you still. I carry this caribou charm and think of you. Sesi carries you. Tuktu James, carrying your name, carries you, too._

_Kallik left me with tears in his eyes. I apologized for how I treated him, but he shrugged me off. He told me that he deserved it for behaving so poorly. But I tell him that he will always be my son. That made his face break._

_I tell him to take care of Sesi. To take care of Tuktu James. To take care of the camp. I believe he will lead next, once Ukiuk passes. He is an old man, too._

_Beside me lay your bones, James. And the remnants of that cloth I wrapped you in. But I do not disturb the rocks I piled upon you. I lean against them. I take comfort._

_You must forgive me, for I left your portrait with Sesi. I wanted her to remember you then. I want Tuktu James to know his namesake._

_The stars are bright and beautiful tonight. The air is dreadfully cold. Already it hurts to breathe. My heart stutters in my chest._

_I asked Kallik to leave me a canteen of water for this next reason. Though traditionally it is wine or spirits, I think you'll be happier that I stayed sober the rest of my years. But I take a sip of this crisp water and sing that damned song:_

_"Of all the money that ever I had_

_I spent it in good company_

_And all the harm that I've ever done_

_Alas, it was to none but me"_

_My Parting Glass. At long last, I am ready to leave this tavern. When I open the doors and step into the light, I know you will be there to greet me, James. Standing there in full officer dress. Gleaming in such illumination. Hair curled by hot irons. Smiling with teeth just a bit crooked._

_Your hand will be out to receive me. I will take it. You will be warm. So warm._

_I have retrieved my selkie's skin. And I am ready to return to sea._

_I'm cold, James. But there is one more note that I must leave. For something tells me that one day, perhaps far from now, I will be found. Maybe by Sesi, maybe by Tuktu James, maybe by his children or someone new entirely. But I will be found._

_The last man of the Franklin Expedition._

_Who lived to die here._

  
\--

  
_Fall 2018_

  
Professor Okalik hadn't realized she was crying until a tear lands dangerously close to the old parchment. 

Upon examination of the body, Okalik would make another discovery.

Two charms, tucked into the preserved furs. A seal and a caribou.

\--

  
_Fall 2018_

Maria Morales looks into her pint without seeing. 

Alex Rockette sits beside her. The rest of their group of graduate students, not just from the University of Chicago, but others now who were drawn by the discovery of Captain Francis Crozier's and Commander James Fitzjames' bodies, are scattered about the bar. They are in high spirits; for they are excited by the revelations made in Crozier's journal.

They sit in a sailors' bar in a port town of Nunavut. Maria doesn't remember the name right now; she thinks she should have refused that last pint, but it's cold out and she and Alex have been feeling morose for a while now.

"I still can't believe the things he wrote," Alex says quietly next to her. "He should've been a poet."

"Nineteenth century English always sounds super fancy," Maria says.

"That wasn't just some Victorian slang."

Maria grunts.

They sit at a corner table by themselves. The bar is dimly lit and getting rowdier by the minute. Maria spots a group of sailors standing at the bar-top, hollering for the bartender to fetch them rounds.

Alex skirts a fingertip around his now empty pint glass. Any joviality he held, before their discovery, is muted now. Maria is surprised by this. Alex often spoke of his dream of becoming a famous Arctic archaeologist who would discovery a site even better than _HMS Terror_ and _Erebus_. 

He has achieved his wish, yet Alex is only somber now. 

Maria voices this thought to her companion.

"I'm just sad now," Alex says. "The thought of it...to live so long without someone you love."

"He had Silna and Kanut and Sesi and Tuktu James and Kallik and the rest."

Alex shrugs. "It's just sad." A pause. "Scurvy is shit."

Maria toasts to that.

The sailors at the bar-top are now singing some jaunty, rowdy song. Something about clearing the ice and swinging from ropes and cursing God Himself for their winter plight.

Maria purses her lips.

Crozier wrote of a song he sang often. To Fitzjames, to send him off in death. To Sesi, their daughter. And Maria knows Sesi must have sang it to Tuktu James.

Like a songbird, drowning out the bartop sailors, Maria sings:

" _Of all the money that ever I had_

_I spent it in good company_

_And all the harm I've ever done_

_Alas, it was to none but me_ "

Alex's brown eyes glimmer gold in the bar light. He carries the next verse:

" _And all I've done for want of wit_

_To memory now I can't recall_

_So fill to me the parting glass_

_Good night and joy be to you all_ "

The bar is quiet. And then, from the sailors and the other graduate students and the rest of the bar patrons, hoisting their drinks up the ceiling, they sing:

" _So fill to me the parting glass_

_And drink a health whatever befalls_

_Then gently rise and softly call_

_Good night and joy be to you all!_ "

And Maria is standing now. And Alex is standing now. The bar patrons stand and sing that song that Captain Francis Crozier sang so long ago, such that their voices spill out into the street and over the churning sea beyond.

And if Maria squints, through her drunken and tearful haze, into that crowd of sailors, she thinks she sees Francis Crozier and James Fitzjames standing there, too. Clothed in woolen sweaters and pants, with Fitzjames raising a jubilant toast with the crowd and Crozier leaning back onto Fitzjames' chest, finally at peace.

**Author's Note:**

> "Northwest Passage - Stan Rogers | The Parting Glass - High Kings, Hozier | A Little Bit of Everything - Dawes | In a Stranger's Arms - LÈON | Wildflowers - The Wailin' Jennys | Crowded Table - The Highwomen"
> 
> My Hot Takes:
> 
> \- Yet again I write by comparing one character to an antlered animal (Deer = Mitaka, Caribou = Fitzjames)  
> \- I want Crozier to be my Dad so bad...he gives off those vibes  
> \- I've only seen the series once, so I still can't tell the difference between most of the minor characters :') I'm sorry to all of you, except arctic Mitaka because you suck lol  
> \- I despise that I can actually identify Hickey, that rat.  
> \- I kind of want Fitzjames to have a terrible singing voice, which he would hate since it goes against His Image. That's why Crozier never heard him sing; he'd sound like a rusty hinge.  
> \- Sesi means "snow" and Tuktu means "caribou"
> 
> For more Hot Takes and other Thoughts, please consider following me on Twitter @LadySt4rkiller. I post about "The Terror" there and other fandoms too :)
> 
> "The voice of the sea speaks to the soul. The touch of the sea is sensuous, enfolding the body in its soft, close embrace" - Kate Chopin


End file.
